Supertroopers: Consequences
by Delora2047
Summary: The consequences of the events depicted in the episode "Supertroopers". Various points of view: Gooseman, Walsh, Stingray and Darkstar.
1. Goose

Based on the song "The Bitter End" by Placebo

Gooseman's point of view on the events in the episode "Supertroopers".

Set right after "Child in Time" (Gravestone's pov, depicted in "Supetroopers: The Plan", chapter 3.)

For details of the timeline I use, see my profile.

Author's note:

I assume for my universe that Wolf Den is located in central Western Australia.

Thanks to Robyn for beta-reading.

_Disclaimer: 'The Adventures of the Galaxy Rangers' is copyrighted by Hearst Entertainment, Inc._

_This is a work of fanfiction, and I make no profit of it._

* * *

_Since we're feeling so anesthetized_

_In our comfort zone_

_Reminds me of the second time_

_That I followed you home_

When the adrenaline from the fight had ebbed and Wolf Den's attack systems had gone back into hibernation, he walked around his old training ground.

Mitigating the hot rays of the sun, a soft breeze was blowing over the salt lake surrounding the base.

How considerate of Killbane and the others to attack in winter! During the summer, the place would have been an oven.

He kicked a lone articulated joint, a remnant from one of the destroyed battle droids. It flew far over the platform's rim and disappeared beneath the glittering surface of the water.

He had thought not even Killbane would be stupid enough to risk releasing Batch-22.

The virus had been destroyed. Earth was safe again. Safe. The word tasted bitter.

He looked around. Negata and Walsh were taking care of clean-up. Wheiner had already departed. There was nothing left for him to do. He strolled over to the edge of the platform. There was no railing. If you were stupid or slow enough to fall into the lake, it was your own problem. He had been able to swim to the shore that was about five kilometers away when he was eight. He plopped down on the concrete ground and watched the endless movement of the waves. Somehow Wolf Den was home, and somehow it wasn't.

_We're running out of alibis_

_From the second of May_

_Reminds me of the summer time_

_On this winter's day_

The sun was hot on his face. He would have to use his biodefenses if he got sunburned.

He felt – empty. His priorities had been to make sure Batch-22 was neutralized and then to protect the humans present. Even though the renegade Supertroopers had been more intent on getting revenge against Negata and Walsh than against him, he had no doubt that the others would not hesitate to try and kill him when they met again.

He had battled Killbane two times before, yet never had it been so impersonal. The lines were drawn. There was nothing left to say.

He had never gotten along with Shimmerer, Gravestone or Brainchild, but when had rivalry turned into hatred?

When he stunned the raging Supertroopers who had been exposed to X-factor or long before that?

When he learned not to beat Killbane with his own weapons but to outsmart him; when he managed to divert enough of his energy to block out Shimmerer completely; when he actually stood his ground against Gravestone in a direct confrontation even if he lost at first; when he started questioning Brainchild's battle plans that would assure victory but not survival?

When Jackhammer called him on his refusal to follow a plan of Killbane's that was more than likely to get half of their team killed and he simply enacted his own maneuver that minimized casualties?

When Stingray decided he should be the only one who talked to Darkstar privately, and he failed to confront him about it because it would have been one more fight for which he could not spare the attention?

_See you at the bitter end_

_See you at the bitter end_

The flash of an object in the sky, an interceptor taking off into space, caught his attention momentarily. It seemed the commander of the Space Navy squadron, who had come down to discuss tactics on pursuing the escaped Supertroopers with Walsh, was leaving. He glanced around himself and saw Walsh walk into the administration building. Presumably the commander was headed for his old office to coordinate their next steps with the Space Navy and the BWL. It appeared that clean-up was finished.

With nothing left to distract him, he wondered if humanity would ever learn not to build weapons that it could not control. Probably not. The Supertroopers were living proof of it.

And he could not hold back against them anymore.

They were traitors.

Ordinary crime to stay alive was one thing. Even for doing business with the Crown, the renegades could be let off. As much as he believed that everyone who helped the Queen fill her psychocrypt should end up there, if Earth were to be strict on the matter of no Crown dealings, they would have to ditch the majority of their informants. But threatening to release Batch-22, a virus that could annihilate up to eighty percent of Earth's population – he could not comprehend how the survivors of X-factor could wish a similar experience onto billions of innocents.

_Every step we take that's synchronized_

_Every broken bone_

_Reminds me of the second time_

_That I followed you home_

Surge, Turquoise, Armor – their minds had been gone, and they were little more than automated killing machines when he brought them in. But Killbane, Shimmerer, Brainchild, Jackhammer, Gravestone – they had a choice in what they did.

They were the children of Wolf Den. It taught them how to survive and how to kill.

But it also taught him to value his teammates' lives, to assemble and disassemble an engine, to question every move everyone made and then to act before them. Strangely, it was the combat training that showed him that life was more than survival. If you went to the boundaries of your capabilities and beyond, you needed a reason to pull through other than you had been ordered to do it.

A Trooper who lost too many challenges was downgraded to a different level. There were three categories: officer candidate, specialist, soldier. Some who were demoted fought their way back up to their previous position, but most lost the will to survive and died.

There were some he saw break, and many whom he saw come close. He did not want to watch, thus he interfered and tried to shield them. Not that it won him any friends. Troopers needed to be self-sufficient.

To need help was seen as a weakness. He understood the concept soon enough. It took him a little longer to accept it.

He suffered more than a few broken bones, but with his bio-defenses, simple fractures healed within a day or two; complicated fractures usually took a little longer.

He learned to disregard the pain. Physical pain was far easier to bear than the endless derisive remarks if Darkstar or Jackhammer, or even Shimmerer or Stingray, needed to step in for him.

He became skilled at various fighting techniques far earlier than anyone else at Wolf Den because he had to. Kiwi fighters often wondered how he did so well foreseeing their moves in hand-to-hand combat; the truth was, for the longest part of his training he had been like a Kiwi to a Rhinotide in terms of size and strength. It didn't stop him. He learned to dodge, and he learned to be smarter and to strike fast.

Strangely, he got along with Troopers from other units far better than with those from his own. Except for Darkstar.

_You shower me with lullabies_

_As you're walking away_

_Reminds me that it's killing time_

_On this fateful day_

He wondered why Stingray and Darkstar had not been part of the attack team – had they not been invited, or had they deliberately decided against the mission?

Had Darkstar decided against it?

Back at Wolf Den, she tried to keep the team together in all their rivalries, tried to make people solve their conflicts through words instead of gashes and broken ribs. Even if she never questioned the training, she too understood that life was more than fighting. In a world of constant aggression, she showed compassion and gentleness, a luxury for which she paid dearly, yet she never stopped.

He missed her with an ache he could not describe.

Niko and Doc, even Zachary, tried to be there as friends for him, but they simply did not understand what it meant to be trained as a living weapon, kept in good condition but ultimately expendable. They did not know what it meant if everything that you thought was good and true crumbled beneath you, and all you could do was cling to your ideals and hope you would be able to rebuild them in a different place.

_See you at the bitter end_

_See you at the bitter end_

_See you at the bitter end_

_See you at the bitter end_

He believed in justice. He believed in law and order. Every time he handcuffed a criminal, he hoped the universe would be a better place even if only for a short while.

But what type of justice was there for those who repaid wrong with wrong?

Somehow he still hoped they wouldn't need to fight.

_Every time we're intercepted_

_Feels a lot like suicide..._

_Slow and sad, grown inside us_

_Arouse and see you're mine_

It might be best if he never saw Darkstar again.

Even if she did nothing more than steal a credit card, falsify an identity, and drive without a proper license, the mere fact that she was a Supertrooper who had run made her a prime candidate for the cryocrypt.

He could only ignore her and Stingray if they lay low; if Darkstar could calm her partner enough that he did not blast everything around him to pieces, or if she left him…

The many 'if's were starting to give him a headache.

_See you at the bitter end_

His comm unit beeped. He had forgotten to turn it off. Walsh's face appeared.

"Gooseman, report to my old office."

It seemed duty was calling again. He walked over the deserted training ground to the administration building, through grey corridors and up the concrete stairs to the room where Walsh was waiting for him. He wondered what had come up. Another mission, a shoot-out with the Blackhole Gang or even another tussle with Bovo cattle, would take his mind off things nicely.

Upon entry into the sparsely furnished, austere room, he noticed that Walsh looked even more rigid than usual.

"Gooseman, prepare for a 317 mission to Nebraska, yellow alert. You have to be ready for departure at an hour's notice. There have been reports that indicate Stingray and Darkstar are hiding on the planet."

The weight on his chest clamped down.

_Love has seen your run-around_

_Who wanna seek you now?_

_I want a peace_

_I'd whine out_

_See you at the bitter end_

"Nebraska's a pretty big planet," he replied when Walsh did not press on with mission details.

After their last confrontation on Mars, he had searched for Stingray and Darkstar time after time and never found a trace.

"Then you're going to search it in widening circles if you have to," Walsh barked.

He would have laughed at that suggestion if not for the dead serious expression on the commander's face.

The respite was over. He would have to go after them.

_Love's reached his side_

_Grab this gentleness inside_

_Heard a cry_

_Six feet down_

_In six weeks' time_

_The mess you left_

_Will end_

_See you at the bitter end_

As he was preparing for the mission, a request for assistance by Sheriff Bob Ladd of Frontier reached them. He reported a conflict with a local cattle breeder, who had apparently hired an off-worlder who could start fires with his eyes…


	2. Walsh

Walsh's thoughts after "Supertroopers". Concurrent to "The Bitter End".

Based on the song "First we take Manhattan" by Leonard Cohen.

Thanks to Robyn for beta-reading.

_Disclaimer: 'The Adventures of the Galaxy Rangers' is copyrighted by Hearst Entertainment, Inc._

_This is a work of fanfiction, and I make no profit of it._

* * *

_They sentenced me to twenty years of boredom_

_For trying to change the system from within_

_I'm coming now, I'm coming to reward them_

_First we take Manhattan, then we take Berlin_

He sat down at his old desk. The Space Navy would try to track down Killbane and the other Supertroopers, but he did not have high hopes that the renegades would be caught. They were too well-trained. He looked around, feeling suddenly weary. The room was only sparsely furnished. His personal affairs had long been transported to BETA Mountain, but he could not pack away the memories into crates as easily.

Twenty-three years since he had taken the command of Wolf Den.

Twenty years since Gooseman had left the artificial womb.

Two and a half years since the Supertrooper project had failed.

He needed to edit his report for the BWL, but he put it off and skimmed the news sites on the net. Obviously, there was no mentioning of Batch-22. That would only have happened if he had failed. He browsed the headlines: a bomb attack in Lahore, violence in Paris, demonstrations in Lima. Even as it was spreading into space, Earth was far from having solved its problems, but there also were many news reports he did not have to read any more. The civil war with Mars had stopped. Hunger revolts in Africa remained local affairs. Eurasia showed signs of reviving democracy

He walked over to the window and let his eyes wander over the deserted facilities around him as his mind wandered back in time.

Like many other things, Wolf Den was a child of its time. The implementation had been flawed, but the plan had been good.

It seemed times had never been easy since the beginning of historic records, but he grew up in an era that was especially violent, one where humanity as a whole struggled for survival. Food and energy shortages magnified existing conflicts; mega cities attracted crime and diseases, and the seas were rising. Colonization of Mars, beginning in the 2040s, temporarily relieved the problem, but when the Great Drought of the 2060s ended food imports from Mars, old conflicts returned with a vengeance, and a new world order became necessary.

His parents were diplomats, and he and his sister, Vanessa, grew up in cities as diverse as New York, Berlin or Singapore. There wasn't any type of revolution – left, right, center, fundamentalist, secular, environmentalist, unnamed – that Earth in the 21st century did not witness, and as Walsh learned to observe the world around him, he saw the causes for all of them.

When he joined the Pan-American military forces, he hoped to do something real and escape from the life of carefully chosen words and gestures his parents had built. Only later did he find out how wrong he had been in his assumptions– and how useful the skill to mince one's words could be.

He was never one for politics, but he knew how to use it if it helped his troops.

_I'm guided by a signal in the heavens_

_I'm guided by this birthmark on my skin_

_I'm guided by the beauty of our weapons_

_First we take Manhattan, then we take Berlin_

With guerrilla fights spreading from slums to entire cities to entire countries, counter-insurgence was the watchword. Poverty and desolation were the tinder, and ideologies were the spark that could set it aflame.

But he also saw what it did to people if you took away their hope for a messiah and their belief that they were called to reform their country. Despair was equally dangerous and just as likely to spark a revolution.

Thus governments established tight controls; they allowed people the tools they needed to build better lives but had the military intervene as soon as there were any signs of revolution.

Those times needed leaders who could make tough choices, and he rose through the ranks quickly.

_I'd really like to live beside you, baby_

_I love your body and your spirit and your clothes_

_But you see that line there moving through the station?_

_I told you, I told you, told you, I was one of those_

The Supertrooper project was the first command he was given, and he gave it a large part of his life. There was never time for private things, and that was probably the better choice. Sawyer tried to balance work and family, and Walsh observed what it cost him to stay weekends at the base and to administer drugs aimed at genetic modifications to his charges at Wolf Den while his mother in law wrote him long letters where she discussed the benefits and drawbacks of measles and rubella vaccinations for his own son and his wife manufactured yet another excuse to his friends why he was not home.

Private happiness was fleeting at best.

When his sister married, he could not even make it to the wedding because of an unannounced review by the UN committee for genetic engineering. He watched the wedding video. Vanessa looked happy.

Worn down by their fruitless struggle to have children, she and her husband divorced three years later. Vanessa went to work for a humanitarian aid organization as a hospital director in Lagos, Nigeria. He warned her about the dangers, but she had always been stubborn.

She was shot dead in a robbery during the first week she was there.

He remembered the date: March 28, 2067, at 1104.

_Ah, you loved me as a loser, but now you're worried that I just might win_

_You know the way to stop me, but you don't have the discipline_

_How many nights I prayed for this, to let my work begin_

_First we take Manhattan, then we take Berlin_

What did one more dead person matter in the high death toll that hunger, disease and revolution were constantly claiming? Except to him, it did matter. He and Vanessa had always been close, and she had been the only family he had left after his parents died in an airplane crash.

He threw himself into his work, to help engineer a better future. Around him, politics continued.

The constant upheaval and environmental catastrophes of the 21st century had forced many states into bigger unions – the Eurasian Union, the Pan-American Federation, the Chinese Alliance, the United States of Central and South Africa…

By 2060, Australia had been one of the few remaining independent states, and it was determined to stay so. It started a secret project to create top soldiers with super powers at a point in time when many other states had already outlawed genetic engineering on humans. Top scientists from Russia, India and Mexico flocked to work in the Land Down Under.

When Australia was forced to join the Pan-American-Pacific Federation in 2064, he was given provisional command of the facilities of Wolf Den. Although the initial intention was to dismantle the project, the government soon saw the advantages of keeping it alive.

The first batch of Supertroopers saw the light of day on November 14, 2064; it took the UN three more years to enforce the ban on the genetic engineering of enhanced humans, but that only meant that the scientists at Wolf Den could not create any new Supertroopers. The training of the existing soldiers continued.

When the FEMA, the Federation of Earth, Mars and Allied Worlds, was founded in 2068, the original intentions for keeping the Supertrooper project alive became obsolete, but the civil war with Mars soon gave the BWL new rationales. If humans could slaughter each other like they did in those bloody years between 2070 and 2075, what would aliens be able to unleash on the entire human race?

Oh yes, their intentions had been very good. He understood the politics behind them perfectly.

_I don't like your fashion business, Mister_

_And I don't like these drugs that keep you thin_

_I don't like what happened to my sister_

_First we take Manhattan, then we take Berlin_

The basics of politics had not changed between then and now. Only he had changed.

He never allowed himself to see the Supertroopers as his children: they were his charges, soldiers he needed to train, and emotional involvement would impair his judgment. Yet the human heart was a treacherous thing.

He thought of Vanessa again. She had died never knowing for what research he had used her genetic donation. He doubted she would have approved. It had taken him a long time until he could admit that, but in the end, it did not matter. He did what he believed to be best for Earth's safety.

He did not like it when senators in cashmere suits and silk saris who never left their air-conditioned offices gave him orders, yet they were right about one thing:

Those who had been trained to smother revolutions were now revolutionaries themselves, and they needed to be stopped.

Supertroopers had been trained in counter-insurgence, but that also meant they knew everything about insurgence: biological, chemical and psychological warfare, weapons, explosives, basic theory of economic systems, strategies, tactics, spying, smuggling …

Any single Supertrooper was more dangerous than an atom bomb, and he had helped create them.

He couldn't ignore or downplay the matter any longer, and he couldn't spare Gooseman from the full extent of his duty any more. Gooseman's failure to bring in Killbane was one thing – their powers were evenly matched, and Killbane was among the most ruthless of the escaped Supertroopers. But Goose had to go after the other renegades before they too banded together and became a danger to Earth.

_And I thank you for those items that you sent me_

_The monkey and the plywood violin_

_I practiced every night, now I'm ready_

_First we take Manhattan, then we take Berlin_

He walked down to the ground floor to the storage hall where they had put the cryo units with the frozen Supertroopers that they had used as their bargaining chip.

They BWL committee for Earth's security had ordered him to destroy the frozen Supertroopers, but he would not comply. He did not take orders on a project that had never officially existed. It was the one small thing he could do, the little spark of hope that remained and that he could not stifle.

He would have code locks installed that self-destructed as soon as the wrong code for reviving the occupant was entered.

_Ah, remember me, I used to live for music_

_Remember me, I brought your groceries in_

_Well, it's father's day and everybody's wounded_

_First we take Manhattan, then we take Berlin_

Negata glided into the room. Walsh turned around reluctantly and faced his former accomplice in the Supertrooper project.

"The data the genetic analyzers have collected during the fight are invaluable in understanding how X-factor worked," Negata said.

"Understanding it will get us nowhere, Owen."

He was angry and tired, yet there was no rest for him.

"Their superpowers are only part of why the Supertroopers are such a grave threat. Any other terrorist group could have tried to steal Batch-22. What makes the escaped Supertroopers dangerous is their ruthlessness and efficiency. We were lucky they wanted to negotiate instead of releasing Batch-22 straight into Earth's atmosphere."

"Do you think they will strike again?" Negata asked methodically, ever the chief scientist and strategist.

He hesitated for a second, wishing that the answer was different.

"Yes. And we need to be prepared."

"We could expand the Series 5 program, both in terms of number of carriers and power levels. I think both Ranger Gooseman and Ranger Niko could handle stronger charges."

"We already have too few candidates for the Series 3 program, let alone the Series 5 implants. A stronger charge increases the health risk for the carrier, and the Board of Leaders is suspicious of another group of enhanced soldiers that it cannot control."

Walsh turned half away from Negata and stared at the cryo units.

Those Supertroopers had fallen, but he would make damn sure something similar never happened again.

"Maybe that was our mistake," Negata spoke after a while.

"We tried to control the Supertroopers too rigidly. They never had a choice if they wanted to defend Earth against its most dangerous enemies."

"They made their choices, Owen."

"Joseph – do you think if we had treated them differently, they would not have turned out this way?"

He sighed, and the weight of the world was on his shoulders.

"This is too wide a field, Owen. And it doesn't matter now."


	3. Stingray and Darkstar

What did the events leading up to "Supertroopers" mean for Stingray and Darkstar? (Alternating points of view)

Concurrent to "The Bitter End" and "First We Take Manhattan".

Based on the French song "Là Bas" ("Far Away") by Jean-Jacques Goldman.

Thanks to Robyn for beta-reading.

_Disclaimer: 'The Adventures of the Galaxy Rangers' is copyrighted by Hearst Entertainment, Inc._

_This is a work of fanfiction, and I make no profit of it._

* * *

_**Là bas**_

_**Tout est neuf et tout est sauvage**_

_**Libre continent sans grillage**_

_**Ici nos rêves sont étroits**_

_**C'est pour ça que j'irai là bas**_

_**[There**_

_**Everything is new, and everything is wild**_

_**Free continent without fences**_

_**Here our dreams are narrow**_

_**That's why I will go there]**_

She rides through the open grassland in the late afternoon of a warm summer day; a soft wind plays with her hair, and for a moment, she manages to forget what she is running from. The moment of peace does not last as she approaches the enclosed cattle pastures and runs into three of Laramie's goons. She considers taking a detour, but they have already spotted her and are waving her to come closer. She swears to herself that if they do so much as make one move on her, they will regret it. Not that she thinks convincing Laramie that she is able to do his dirty work for him is a fight worth fighting, but not being taken seriously simply because she is a woman grates on her.

It is true that there is not enough work in this place to keep even one Supertrooper occupied for as much as half the day, and Ray minds doing these kinds of jobs much less than she does; it is also true that the Galaxy Rangers are looking for two smugglers and not a poor cowboy who takes any job and his modest girlfriend. That doesn't change the fact that she hates the place and the company! The inactivity is making her feel like a hen in a crate. At least as smugglers, they could choose their customers.

Laramie's henchmen keep waving. She can hear them talking now.

"The little witch has fine hands. Why not let her handle the doctor's task?"

If this means what she thinks it means, they're dead.

Coming closer and scanning her surroundings carefully, she can see a fourth man in a gray suit now. He is sitting on a large stone partially hidden from view by the horses. She recognizes him as Dr. Winfrey Charleston, a veterinarian whom Bovo Company sent to check on the progress of their cattle. From the way his upper body is bent forward and the way he is favoring his right hand, she concludes he has been hurt. At least, she won't have to patch up an injured farmer.

"Hey, Ms. Darkstar, could you apply your medical skills to poor Doctor Winfrey Charleston here? I think he broke his hand when the cow tried to lie on him," Brutus, the green skinned alien with the unkempt hair and the high-pitched voice, greets her.

Ebla and Paul, two of Laramie's human henchmen, stay back. Ebla is tall and dark haired; Paul is stocky with unruly brown curls. Both are likely to have sinister intentions.

She does not let them out of her peripheral vision as she dismounts. Stingray warned them not to touch her, but she is not sure if it that will hold. Lying low and appearing harmless has its own dangers.

"What happened?" she demands, trying not to show her disgust with the gunmen.

"I was trying to take a blood sample from one of the cows, but it broke its bonds and tried to impale me," Dr. Charleston speaks up. "With my injured hand, I don't know how to get the blood samples I need, and these three gentlemen have professed themselves unable to operate a syringe." He smiles apologetically at her.

Darkstar spares Laramie's men a disparaging glance. It's not as though they have proven shy of blood on other occasions.

"Let me see your hand," she demands. Dr. Charleston looks doubtful at her. "I have basic nurse training," she adds impatiently.

He reluctantly complies. Feeling his bones, she can confirm quickly that nothing is broken even if he winces at her examination.

"It's only sprained," she tells him as she bandages his hand. "Stay away from aggressive cattle, and you'll have recovered in a week or two."

She stands up to face Laramie's goons. This job is not yet finished, and she does not like the idea of Dr. Charleston – or any outsider – staying longer than necessary at Laramie's ranch.

"Tie up the cows we need for the examination," she orders Brutus, Paul and Ebla.

Brutus is startled. "That's not my job."

"It is now, or do you want me to tell Mr. Laramie that you cannot do your work properly?"

"It's not my job," Brutus replies obstinately.

Something in her snaps. She hates incompetence.

"Do it now, or you won't have any job very soon," she retorts.

"Do what the lady tells you, Brutus," Ebla interjects. "We don't want any trouble," he adds with a sneer that informs her he means the exact opposite of what he is saying. She will have to deal with it later.

The three gunmen busy themselves with the task of catching cows with their lassos and tying them up. She notes that they seem unpracticed but not unfamiliar with it. When five cows are constrained to her satisfaction, she proceeds to draw some blood samples and stores them in a cooling unit provided by Dr. Charleston.

"We have some more work to do," Ebla announces as she is done with her task.

"Why don't you show our doctor back to Frontier where he can catch transportation?" he adds derisively as they ride off.

She can imagine all too well to what type of work Ebla is referring. Laramie has no respect for boundaries, and his cattle regularly knock over the fences 'by accident'.

She hesitates. She does not like going to Frontier. The town people eye her suspiciously; if the Sheriff is around, he follows her like a constant shadow, and the shop keepers charge her three times the normal price.

"I'm afraid I really might not be able to ride alone with one hand," Dr. Charleston says sheepishly. "I'd be indebted to you if you could take me to Frontier."

She sighs inwardly. More trouble.

"Alright, get up behind me," she orders briskly as she makes her mare lie down so that he can mount easily.

The ride is uneventful except for Charleston's annoying tendency to chatter.

"So, ahem, how did an educated woman like you end up in this part of Nebraska?" he asks as they reach the main road back to Frontier. She has to force herself to stay calm.

"I found work here," she replies frostily.

"What do you do in your job?" she asks after a moment. It might be better to get him talking about himself.

"Well, I take blood samples from Bovo cattle wherever they graze."

"Why so much time and effort? Aren't the genetic designs for Bovo cattle stable?"

"Well, the basic design is stable, but of course, we try to continually improve our products… There are too many cheap clones of Bovo cattle, and we always have to stay one step ahead of the competition. Unfortunately, you never know what might interact with the genes of the new designs."

"Have there been any incidents?" she asks, suddenly gripped by a nervousness she cannot explain. Her over-sensitive mare prances, but she quickly reins her in.

"There was one on Prairie when the farmers fed their cattle unlicensed experimental grain, but that was an exception. Otherwise, I assure you that our cattle are quite stable."

She has seen 'stable' when the Bovo-9 cattle stampede a fence.

She changes the conversation to the more harmless topic of cattle diets and diseases.

It is near dusk when they reach the perimeter of Frontier. She does not want to prolong things by riding into town and having to ward off one of Sheriff Ladd's interrogations; besides, she is already late for a meeting with Ray. She hopes they will be able to spend a quiet evening alone.

"I'm afraid I'm in a bit of hurry. Can I let you off here?" she asks as politely as she can.

"Well, yes, I will be able to walk from here on," he says, a bit taken aback by the sudden end of their ride, but he jumps down from the horse graciously enough and unfastens his gelding from her mare's saddle.

"Thank you for the ride, Ms. – was it Darkstar?"

"Dawson. Cora Dawson."

"Well, thank you for your help then, Ms. Dawson. Goodbye."

She decides she doesn't like him. Something about him is just too smooth.

_**Là bas**_

_**Faut du cœur et faut du courage**_

_**Mais tout est possible à mon âge**_

_**Si tu as la force et la foi**_

_**L'or est à portée de tes doigts**_

_**C'est pour ça que j'irai là bas**_

_**[There**_

_**You need heart, and you need courage**_

_**But everything is possible at my age**_

_**If you have the strength and the faith**_

_**Gold is within your reach**_

_**That's why I will go there]**_

No one is there when he enters the common room. He sits down on the shabby couch and switches on the Tri-D set. Today is the day when Killbane and the others wanted to strike. The news anchorman announces a special report about a new settlement development program for the Southern Territory of Nebraska.

He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. No news is bad news. If there had been a Supertrooper breakout, it would be on every channel. So his decision not to get involved was right. Trust Killbane and Brainchild to screw up even something as simple as an exchange of captives against a container with a lethal virus.

A part of his conscience keeps nagging him that he should have at least told Darkstar, but he silences it. He doesn't want her to get hurt, and she has said that she wants them to be safe.

Occasional noises from outside tell him Paul and Ebla are involved in one of their 'practice fights'.

He is surrounded by imbeciles. He has tried to explain psychological warfare to them, but all they can think about is beating up farmers and their next paycheck.

The farmers will sell their land if they are intimidated enough, but it has to be done in secret. Pets that go missing, wives or children who feel constantly watched, a few casual encounters at night, barns that burn down mysteriously – that would work. Open attack would just create resistance.

He could easily mix up a blasting agent that would be undetectable after the explosion, but all that Laramie's underlings understand is brute force.

He longs for Darkstar. She will understand. He wonders what is keeping her. He doubts she has ridden into town; she dislikes the town people's stares and the insolent remarks behind her back. He could easily threaten the shop keepers into giving her a good price, but that's something else she doesn't want him to do besides playing poker for money.

The news anchorman is droning on about increases in Earth's military budget. To think that now they have billions of gold equivalent units available to fortify their borders all the way to Crown Space and take on the defense of Kirwin and Andor as a side task, but two years ago they didn't have the funding for the three months it would have taken to complete the Wolf Den project on schedule!

Paul enters the room. He is apparently done being beaten up and looking for different entertainment.

"Stingray, are you coming with us to play poker at the 'Blue Horse'? I heard they have some new strippers visiting," the hired thug interrupts his bitter thoughts.

"I don't need to pay women to look at me or let me look at them," he retorts. The brute is grating on his nerves like a fork screeching on porcelain. The term 'thinking with one's hormones and muscles' is too kind to describe Paul since that would still have presupposed a certain mental capacity. Stingray would act to intimidate people if they stood in the way of his and Darkstar's goals, but he would not do it out of boredom.

"Well, seems to me your girlfriend is looking at other men free of charge too. She patched up our vet nicely and even took him into town to his hotel."

"Get lost before you lose something," he snaps.

Paul shrugs and collects his hat and overcoat from the rack.

"I'm sure you know her better than I do," he adds, snickering slightly as he leaves.

Stingray almost storms after him to rearrange his teeth. Paul has been lucky he is not in the mood for a fight, even though the prospect is becoming more and more enticing as the news speakers discuss inflation, a new hyperspace route to Andor, and the explosion of a planet called C-40.

He knows Darkstar better than to believe she could be interested in any of Laramie's men or the townsfolk. A small sting remains. She has promised to meet him at 1900, yet she is late because of a minor medical problem. If she has to take the vet to his hotel and not the hospital or the morgue, his injury cannot be that bad. He tries to swallow the bitterness. Darkstar is loyal to him. She would never choose someone else.

A commercial about scented candles does nothing to soothe his worries.

He remembers all too clearly how she would readily break curfew to look after sick or injured teammates, but he could not convince her once to bend the rules so that they could spend the night together in the barracks.

The news report closes with another contribution about Nebraska. Apparently, the government is paying ranchers a premium if they breed traditional cattle because that is what tourists expect. He wonders if anyone would pay him a premium if he worked in a petting zoo as one of the 'tamed' wild animals. He cannot contain the hysteric laughter that seizes him and nearly knocks over the Tri-D set. If he breaks it, it will cost him two months' salary to replace it, and the thought alone is almost enough to make him smash the appliance. He's a dog on a leash, but he's doing it for Darkstar. He wants her to be happy, and she wants them to be safe.

The news magazine is followed by a ludicrous western that has about as much to do with real life on the frontier than a lap dog with a wolf.

He cannot help but ask himself: if they had gone to Earth with the other Supertroopers, would they have been able to make a difference? Brainchild and Killbane are apt to botch even the most solid plan, and yet the 'what if' keeps nagging him.

What if…

Every lousy job he took on Mars, he accepted for her sake.

When they were working as smugglers, Darkstar would choose their customers, and while they might argue about which risks to take and which to avoid, at least they were working together then.

Darkstar is a formidable fighter, fast and efficient as lightning, but she only fights if she has to, so he has taken over the brawls and the posturing and the blackmail. It hasn't won him any praise by her.

He is tired of hiding, and he is sick of running. The senators from the ex Supertrooper committee are probably laughing their asses off at the thought of what has become of their prized falcons.

For her sake, he has accepted a job with a fifth-rate cattle breeder who doesn't even know how to hire qualified bouncers!

At 2011, he finally hears her footsteps in the hall.

_N'y va pas_

_Y a des tempêtes et des naufrages_

_Le feu, les diables et les mirages_

_Je te sais si fragile parfois_

_Reste au creux de moi_

_[Don't go_

_There are storms and wreckages_

_Fire, devils and mirages_

_I know that sometimes you are so fragile_

_Stay close to me]_

He wants to hug her when she enters the room, but her worried face stalls him.

"Is something wrong, Star?" he asks apprehensively. If someone has so much as threatened her, they will curse the day they were born.

She looks shaken.

"We should leave, Ray. I'm not sure it's safe here any longer."

_On a tant d'amour à faire_

_Tant de bonheur à venir_

_Je te veux mari et père_

_Mais toi, tu rêves de partir_

_[We have so much love to experience_

_So much happiness yet to come_

_I want you as a husband and father_

_But you are dreaming of leaving]_

Something in him snaps.

He's putting up with the bad food, the awful company, the dreadfully boring dirty work in this place, but it's never enough for her.

"Why? Because you can't handle a few bandits? Or did that doctor confuse you with his fancy speech about Bovidae Bovinae Bos taurus Bovicus-9?" he retorts.

She seems slightly taken aback but catches herself quickly. The expressive green eyes that he used to sink into when they were making love focus on him as though he were a willful child.

"I understood him all too well, Ray. These gene-engineered cattle aren't stable, and Bovo is keeping an eye on them. If there is an incident, that could well attract the Galaxy Rangers for an investigation. Laramie would sell out any of us to save his own skin or simply if he could make a profit from it. We would be better off elsewhere where no one looks into gene modifications and what they can do."

_**Ici tout est joué d'avance**_

_**Et l'on n'y peut rien changer**_

_**Tout dépend de ta naissance**_

_**Et moi je ne suis pas bien né**_

_**[Here the game is already decided**_

_**And one cannot change anything about that**_

_**Everything depends on where and who you were born**_

_**And I am not well-off by birth]**_

Anger rises in him, a tiny flame that is growing into a fire. Can't she ever be content with what he tries to give her?

"And where else would we go? I thought you had enough of running?!?"

Her eyes are downcast, and he wants to shake her so that she looks at him fully.

"This isn't life, Ray," she says barely above a whisper.

_Là bas_

_Loin de nos vies, de nos villages_

_J'oublierai ta voix, ton visage_

_J'ai beau te serrer dans mes bras_

_Tu m'échappes déjà là bas_

_[There_

_Far from our lives, our villages_

_I will forget your voice and your face_

_In vain I'm embracing you_

_You're already withdrawing from me there]_

She stares at the carpet. It is worn and dirty as is almost anything in this place. It is hard for her to admit it, but maybe she has been wrong in urging him to come here and lie low. They are Supertroopers, bred and trained to fight, not to hide as timid prey does.

Smuggling was difficult. If they took easy jobs, those did not pay much, and their customers tried more than once to swindle them out of their payment by threatening to alert the Space Navy to their dealings. She actually started collecting information on their clientèle and the fences they used just so she would have enough blackmail to diffuse difficult situations without a shoot-out. Their other option was to go for the very risky jobs, which paid well – if they and their cargo survived until delivery. They did not have the right connections for any jobs between those two extremes.

"Ray, maybe coming here was a mistake. Maybe we should just leave."

"No!"

Startled by his outburst, she looks up. He is blazing with fury, and she has to force herself not to recoil. She doesn't understand his ire, nor why it is directed at her. They have argued before, but never has she had a feeling like now that she doesn't even know the man in front of her.

_**J'aurai ma chance le jour et mes droits**_

_**[I will have my chance one day and my rights]**_

"There isn't _any_ place for us in this universe, Darkstar. Not unless we _make_ it. That's what I keep telling you!"

He wants to blast the furniture, but that will not solve their problem. Blasting those farmers' barns might. Of course, that would draw attention, but he's willing to handle that.

_N'y va pas_

_[Don't go]_

"Ray…"

_**Et la fierté qu'ici je n'ai pas**_

_**Là bas**_

_**Tout ce que tu mérites est à toi**_

_**[And the pride that here I don't have**_

_**There**_

_**Everything you deserve belongs to you]**_

She sounds almost pleading, and he wonders what has become of the strong woman who would stand in Gravestone's way or challenge Killbane to protect her friends. If they stop fighting, they die – long before they are dead.

"I have had enough of wearing my head low, and saying thanks for alms. _You_ wanted to stop smuggling, Darkstar! Now let's face the odds here!" he screams.

_N'y va pas_

She is trying to be reasonable, but she has the sickening feeling that she is losing the battle.

"Our ship was destroyed, Ray, and the Galaxy Rangers nearly tracked us twice. We couldn't continue as independent smugglers without answering to a gang."

_**Ici les autres imposent leurs lois**_

_**Là bas**_

_**[Here the others dictate their laws**_

_**There]**_

She's sounding calm and controlled, as she always tries to be in a fight. Oh how he wishes he could crack the ice that she uses to shield herself from her emotions. He knows how to get her angry, but he can never make her see his side.

"You still follow orders from them! You still run when they say 'run'. I want to be free! And I want you to come with me!"

He's holding out a hand to her. She's looking at him as though he has gone mad.

_Je te perdrai peut-être là bas_

_N'y va pas_

_[I will perhaps lose you there_

_Don't go]_

"Ray..."

When did she lose him, and why is he cracking now when they are relatively safe and not when they were surrounded by enemies? Something has gone terribly wrong, but she doesn't know what it is. Ice starts to grip her heart.

_**Mais je me perds si je reste là**_

_**Là bas**_

_**La vie ne m'a pas laissé le choix**_

_**[But I lose myself if I stay here**_

_**There**_

_**Life hasn't given me a choice]**_

He was trained to blow up dams and not leave a trace; sabotage ships so that no one would ever suspect why the went off the radar; be a living bomb where weapon controls would prevent any other arms. And here he was, practicing to look intimidating to farmers – stupid farmers who wouldn't give up their land even though they were offered money for it.

"Ray, did anything happen with the farmers today or with Laramie? Was there a fight?"

She sounds so concerned. He doesn't care, not any more. He can't believe she is asking how his job went as though they were a normal couple, as though he had an ordinary job.

"How do you think my day was, honey? I smiled nicely, asked the farmers politely to leave their land, and offered them a free ride to the railway station if they sold by the end of the month, but they wouldn't listen!"

_N'y va pas_

_[Don't go]_

She's starting to lose her patience, but she can't afford to break now.

"Ray, we could go elsewhere."

_**Toi et moi ce sera là bas ou pas**_

_**Là bas**_

_**Tout est neuf et tout est sauvage**_

_**[You and I will be there or not at all**_

_**There**_

_**Everything is new, and everything is wild]**_

"You say you'll never leave me, but that only seems to apply when we go where you want to go! Will you stand with me if we fight against these farmers and their ill-advised sheriff?!?"

He slams his hands onto the table, glaring at her, forcing her to make a decision.

_N'y va pas_

_[Don't go]_

"They're not our enemies, Stingray!" she answers coldly.

_**Libre continent sans grillage**_

_**Là bas**_

_**Beau comme on imagine pas**_

_**[Free continent without fences**_

_**There**_

_**More beautiful than one can imagine]**_

"Everyone is our enemy, and I can't understand why you can't see it. You've always been so smart, but now you don't want to face reality."

The fury is fading, and cold determination is starting to take its place.

_N'y va pas_

"And you think luring the Space Navy here is going to give us freedom?" she shouts back.

_**Ici nos rêves sont étroits**_

_**Là bas**_

_**C'est pour ça que j'irai là bas**_

_**[Here our dreams are narrow**_

_**There**_

_**That's why I will go there]**_

"They won't send the Navy, Star. Not when they have a single weapon that is much more precise."

His plan is starting to take shape. They will never be free unless they eliminate the hunter.

_N'y va pas_

_[Don't go]_

"You can't mean that." She feels as though he has slapped her.

She understands what he means – whom he means– and it scares her more than she can say.

_**On ne m'a pas laissé le choix**_

_**Là bas**_

_**Je me perds si je reste là**_

_**[They haven't given me a choice**_

_**There**_

_**I lose myself if I stay here]**_

"O yes, I mean it, and if you won't stand with me, leave now."

Things have suddenly become clear. He grabs his jacket and heads outside, walking slowly and deliberately. She won't stop him, not when he finally knows what he has to do. He is doing it for her too. They will be free.

_N'y va pas_

_[Don't go]_

Stunned, she looks after him. Her worst nightmares are coming to pass.

She sits down slowly. As much as she hates it, in the end, they are still Supertroopers, and Supertroopers can't escape the fight.

Ever since they have come to Nebraska, they haven't seen any sign of the Space Navy, the Galaxy Rangers, or another Supertrooper, but that is about to change.

She doesn't know what she will do.

_**C'est pour ça que j'irai là bas**_

_**[That's why I will go there]**_

He jumps onto his horse. He doesn't need a gun. It is time to show these farmers and to stop the pretense of lying low. He is a Supertrooper, and he will fight and face the hunter.


End file.
